


Clues

by Lint



Category: Nancy Drew (TV 2019)
Genre: Drabble Collection, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-03-02 06:33:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23966947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lint/pseuds/Lint
Summary: Collection of Nancy x Ace drabbles.
Relationships: Ace/Nancy Drew
Comments: 11
Kudos: 92





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For the Clue Crew.

**anyone else but you**

It's George who notices first, shooting a glare at Ace, who returns the look cool and calm. She holds in the outburst perched on the tip of her tongue, not wanting to drop the hammer on a subject no one else in the group seems to have picked up on. Nancy vacating her spot within their circle, hand clasped against Ace's wrist ever so briefly, a goodbye expressed without words spoken.

“You gonna tell me what that was about?” she asks later, when Bess has gone home for the night, and Nick is outside on the phone

Ace doesn't turn to acknowledge the question, focused instead on the pots and pans dropped into the sink, and reaches for the scrub pad resting against the faucet.

“Tell you what?”

Her scowl is instantaneous, never quite understanding how he can be so chill about absolutely everything.

“Nancy,” she continues. “Her hand. I mean her hand was on your-”

Ace finally looks over to her, expression giving away nothing.

“Are the two of you a thing?” George demands, folding her arms.

Ace's attention refocuses on the biggest pot in the sink, scrubbing a few circles before replying.

“By thing you mean-”

“Dating,” she cuts him off. “Are you and Nancy dating?”

Steam rises from the spout, as George's foot taps against the linoleum, knowing conversations with him are near impossible at times and she's about to express that fact very loudly when Nick comes rushing back into the kitchen.

“Ted called me,” he informs.

George's focus shifts to him.

“Why is my little sister calling you?”

“Because apparently, you didn't answer your phone.”

George pats her pockets for the device, only to find them empty.

“Shit,” she mutters. “What did she want?”

Nick shoots a glance to Ace, who is now washing the next biggest pot.

“Your mom, uh...”

George groans if frustration.

“Tell me on the way.”

She juts a finger at Ace.

“To be continued.”

He looks back in time to see Nick offer a confused look, but doesn't have time to ask before he runs after George.

-

Bess is checking her lipstick, back turned to Ace and Nancy, with compact held high in hand. She nearly drops it, thinking she's seen something she can't possibly have seen, and despite turning around quickly as she can the moment has passed with Nancy heading for the door.

“What,” she begins, pointing at the girl's retreating back. “Was that?”

Ace looks to her with an arched brow, hands in pockets, unsure how to proceed so says nothing at all.

“No,” Bess gasps dramatically. “No, no, no. You can't possibly be-”

She looks to the front door, just as Nancy pushes past it, bell ringing with her exit.

“I mean of course you could,” she carries on. “Not that it wouldn't make sense. Quite the handsome couple you would be, if that's indeed what you are.”

Ace offers no commentary, watching on as his friend dramatically tries to figure out the nature of the moment she witnessed.

“Are you?” she questions, stopping directly in front of him.

“Are we?” he replies, dragging out the vowel.

“A couple!” she insists. “You and Nancy!”

He takes a breath.

“Don't deny it,” Bess counters. “That girl has been through hell these past months, and I swear I just heard her giggle.”

Ace merely shrugs.

“She kissed your bloody cheek!”

He smirks.

“What?” she demands.

“Nothing,” he assures. “It's just, the British really comes out when you're excited.”

Bess swats his arm playfully.

“I want details,” she insists. “Every little one. That's your penance for daring to keep this from me.”

-

Ace pats the top of the passenger door, before backing up a step, as Nancy drives off. He watches the car leave the parking lot, then turns to walk back into the Claw, and pauses at Nick standing on the steps. His eyebrows lift with a question he doesn't ask, eyes darting to the exit where Nancy's car was just a moment before.

“You two are getting close,” he comments as Ace approaches.

“Yup,” Ace replies, opening the door.

He heads toward the kitchen, Nick moving in step behind.

“I gotta ask man,” he begins, earning a turn of Ace's head his way. “Are you okay with it?”

Confused, Ace merely looks at him.

“With?”

“Being kept in the dark with things,” he elaborates. “Knowing that no matter how much you want to understand when it comes to another person, sometimes they just won't let you.”

Ace thinks on that a moment.

“I know if she chooses not to tell me something there's always a reason,” he informs. “And that, when she's ready, the reason will come later.”

Nick looks surprised.

“Really?”

Ace shrugs.

“Usually.”

“Oh,” Nick accepts with a nod. “She uh... She didn't really do that. With me.”

Ace rests a hand briefly on his shoulder, then makes his way to the kitchen.

-

Nancy's arms wrap easily around Ace's neck, before she smiles in a way he likes to think she only does with him, leaning against her car in the parking lot of a grocery store that closed five minutes before their arrival. George had given them a hundred bucks to clean the store out of Old Bay seasoning, because the Claw's delivery would be delayed by nearly a week.

“So,” she begins. “Our mission has failed.”

“You don't seem that upset.”

Nancy shakes her head.

“I tried telling George it was too late,” she assures. “But, you know...”

Ace nods.

“You are rarely wrong.”

That smile again. It stirs something within him.

“And I highly doubt Quick Stop carries seafood spices.”

Ace thinks on that a moment before agreeing. It's nice. Taking a moment like this. Just the two of them without a murder mystery, or supernatural threat looming over their heads. Where the prying eyes of their friends, who now look upon every interaction between them with a newfound scrutiny, since their pairing had been realized by all parties involved.

“You know everyone knows,” he states vaguely. “Right?”

“Obvious from the moment Bess and George cornered me in the ladies room, and wouldn't let me out until I promised not to break your heart.”

Ace smirks.

“They did?”

Nancy nods.

“It was very intimidating.”

He smiles.

“I can tell them to back off,” he offers. “If you want.”

Nancy laughs in return, letting her head drop against his chest.

For a moment neither says a thing.

“I like it,” Nancy states. “Being with you. It's... Nice.”

Ace's lips brush the top of her hair.

“Nice is good,” he agrees.

/\

**just a quiet moment**

A cup of coffee is placed on the table, Nancy's head shooting up from the position where she must have nodded off, while Ace stands there calmly sipping from his own mug. Gathering her bearings Nancy shifts in the booth, vinyl groaning with the movement, as she glances out the window to an overcast morning.

“What time is it?” she asks.

“A little after seven,” comes his reply.

Four hours sleeping upright in a restaurant booth certainly explains the stiffness in her arm and shoulder, as she tries rotating them both, and hisses against pins and needles. Steam rises off the coffee, and it smells wonderful, which makes her lean closer to get a better whiff.

“Did everyone-”

“Go home?” Ace fills in. “Awhile ago, yeah.”

She keeps rolling the numbness from her arm.

“But not you?”

Ace drink from his mug.

“Wasn't going to leave you here all alone.”

Something about that makes her smile, flexing her fingers one last time, and braving to take hold of the coffee cup. Another quick inhale of its aroma, before blowing on it cautiously, and taking a tentative sip. Eyes widen with the realization that it's made as if she'd poured and mixed the cream and sugar herself. Those eyes then lift to him, still standing stoically without a care in the world.

“Two sugars, one cream,” he gives. “I pay attention. One might even say I'm observant.”

Nancy nods with the acceptance of this new fact.

“Noted.”

Briefly, she wonders if he's noticed the way they keep getting paired off lately. How the group splits into preset teams that leave Nick, Bess, or George occasionally on their own, but Nancy and Ace are a duo no one interferes with. Or if that steadfast observance of his, has not gone overlooked on her part. That she appreciates the consistency in which he both respects, and recognizes her boundaries, and how she operates within them. That he comes always through, no matter what life or death situation they may fall into.

She takes another sip, glancing out the window to a sun barely visible behind a slew of clouds, then pats the seat next to her from him to join. There is no hesitation on his part, sliding easily into the booth next to her, offering cheers with the mug in hand.

Their arms brush against one another, and she leans easily into the contact, head dipping against his shoulder a quick moment. He drinks from his coffee and doesn't comment on this new physical connection, not that she expected he would. That he takes whatever she gives with a grace she never thought capable in another person.

“You're a good egg, Ace.”

Though she can't see his reaction to the compliment, a smile surely pulls at his mouth.

“Hope so,” he gives. “Bad eggs tend to smell.”

She can't help but pull away at that, a bewildered look upon her face, but then he just smirks at her and she finds herself beaming in return. What is she going to do with him? She wonders. What is she going to do with this fondness for his presence that just keeps growing the more time they spend together? Feelings she will inevitably deny, until a point comes to where they kiss for a flurry of differentiating reasons, and discovers said denial was all for naught.

Looping her arm through his, she lets her head fall back against his shoulder, for once letting a quiet moment be enjoyed. When his head dips to rest against hers, a flush spreads easily across her cheeks, as a sigh of contentment escapes.

/\

**in shadows**

A shadow moves eerily along the wall, as Nancy slaps a hand over her mouth to keep the terrified gasp from slipping past her lips. It moves like ink somehow came alive, slithering along brick and mortar, looking for her. For them. Ace is just as scared as she, but somehow manages to keep his stoicism in check, so as not to get the duo discovered.

They share a quick look, despite the low light that surrounds, each somehow instantly aware of the others thought. How many angry ghosts could one small New England town really have? It's not a statistic they're both particularly interested in knowing, but at this point, it borders on the ridiculous.

It shouldn't be a surprise that uncovering a money laundering ring, greed an everlasting factor in murder, revealed a few dead bodies along the way. But is it so bad to wish for petty thieves every once in awhile? Some kind of organized pet snatching scandal? Cases from those detective books she read as a kid, simple mysteries with subtle interwoven layers, that always get wrapped up with a nice pretty bow at the end?

Smart Girl Detective never had to deal with ghosts. At least not the ones actually screaming for revenge from the afterlife. Rather, a corrupt small town businessman pretending to be one for the sake of driving down property values.

“I think it's gone,” Ace whispers.

He hasn't commented on the fact that she's held a death grip on his hand since that thing flashed its wavering form. Just as she hasn't that he squeezes back just as hard, anytime their heart rate happens to spike.

They've dealt with the with the spirit world before, so what is it about this particular phantasm that conjures such dread? As angry as Dead Lucy was, Nancy never thought her mother's astral form would actually deliver harm. And the Agleaca, savage as her machinations could project, was just trying to collect on a price they tried to skimp out on.

This guy though. David Edinger. A certified CPA and by all accounts a stand up citizen, before the lure of quick cash lead down a slippery slope to his demise.

“No,” Nancy denies, hair still standing on end. “It's waiting.”

Waiting for them to crawl out from their hidey hole it (thankfully) hasn't found.

Ace doesn't second guess her judgment. Nor pleads that they make a run for it anyway. That his trust in her is somehow deeper than the trust she has in herself.

“I'm sorry,” she offers after a moment.

He looks to her, confused.

“For what?”

Lots of things Nancy doesn't say. For being the proverbial wrecking ball to her friends small town lives. That her demand for answers tends to overshadow the very real risk of consequences that stem from such a need. That they could have died dozens of times before this moment, and yet still allows their help, rather than place the risk solely on her own shoulders.

Sorry that despite all the bravery she is claimed to have, emotions are the one thing she freely runs from, and the thought of death is shockingly less terrifying than admitting to him she might want to be more than just friends.

If it wasn't so dark he might be able to see all of this written on her face. Which he can do with astounding ease most days. Instead he squeezes her hand in reassurance, and the simple gesture is incredibly calming considering the circumstance. He knows how she feels. Somehow he always does.

“I go where you go.”

She's thought about kissing him before. Several times actually. Whenever he says things like that. The quiet reassurance that he is by her side no matter what. That he will be as long as she wants him there. That in this moment, she's incredibly grateful he is.

It's stupid.

It's so ridiculously stupid to kiss him here. Now. With a literal ghost wanting to do them harm. But she does it anyway. To say thank you. For this. For everything. To finally tell him without ever having to say the words. Words that may never form, because how many would it take, to have him truly understand the depth in which she appreciates what exists between them?

He pulls away, and for a fleeting instant she's full of regret.

“Ace-”

“I think it's gone,” he says again.

But this time he's right. She doesn't see it, and whatever internal warning system detects its presence, no longer feels it.

“Right,” she agrees.

They need to go. To find their friends and warm them. To solve this case before anyone can get hurt. He doesn't move though, and neither does she.

“When this is over,” he begins. “Maybe we can, uh, do that again. If you want.”

She wants. It's ludicrous much she wants, but doesn't trust herself right now to do anything but nod. He stands first, and pulls her along with their hands still clasped together, as they look in opposite directions just in case.

The coast appears to be clear.

They run.

/\

**all i know is that i don't know**

“He just,” Nancy tries to explain, unsure how, because clarifying it to someone else means it's clear to her. Which most certainly, it is not. “Snuck up on me.”

George and Bess share a look at this response. It not filling the gap they hoped it would. This not quite confrontation over the nature of Nancy and Ace's burgeoning relationship. (If you can even call it that.) It makes her curious, as most things do, why their sudden need for a definition? Perhaps because she herself demands answers, when it comes to questions that may or may not be her business?

Or maybe because they witnessed how things ended with Nick. Not wanting to see another friend left to the wayside because of a few emotional barriers and personality flaws. Or worse Owen, stopped in its tracks on account of death, even if that was more unfortunate circumstance than fault.

“He does that,” Bess offers in understanding.

George looks like she concurs, but folds her arms and rolls her eyes, in lieu of a reply.

Nancy smiles cautiously. It may not be the explanation they want, but at least it appears to be acceptable.

“Look,” she begins again. “You want an answer I don't have-”

“But you love getting answers,” Bess cuts her off.

“Yeah,” George interjects. “It's totally your thing.”

Nancy's mouth drops slightly, not knowing how to respond. Perhaps not wanting to let them in on the countless moments, she's found herself looking at Ace as if he were some kind of unicorn. That his steadfast earnestness and fierce loyalty, slowly but surely, sparked the tiniest of feelings within her heart. How his kindness and compassion, left her envious at times, because in comparison the level in which his radiates simply lacks on her side.

Or how he reached out one day, to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, like it was just something he did. And she, in moment of bravery or stupidity, leaned over and kissed him square on the lips. How he grinned at her like it was just something _she_ did. Like this was something they could be. As freely and easily as he seemed to stroll through life.

“I could love him,” slips out before she can take it back, both Bess and George's eyes widening to saucers. “I mean, really really love him...”

Bess takes a step forward, but Nancy stops her with an upturned palm.

“Why does that seem to terrify you?” she asks.

Because those she lets close inevitably disappoint. Or she herself disappoints. They get hurt, she gets hurt, or they die and she... She's left to solve their murder. Or course she can't say that, standing there with the two of them staring. Luckily her phone rings, and she answers it so quickly, it clearly flings from her hand onto the floor.

“Ace,” she says, shooting a glance to both girls. “Hey.”

George and Bess share a look off his name, but neither mutters something to the other, and Nancy is heading for the door before either one of the can begin to interject.

“Right. Yeah, that thing.”

He'd finally convinced his Dad to let her look at some old case files. Just to tie up some loose ends with another mystery that had fallen into their laps. She doesn't bother to share it with the girls, because they wouldn't believe her anyway, probably thinking it's a booty call even though that's far from his style. Wait, where did that thought come from?

“Huh? No I didn't forget, I just-”

She glances back at the pair, watching her every move, and shrugs awkwardly before exiting.

“No, nothing is wrong.”

Nearly to her car, Nancy gives one last glimpse back to reveal they've wandered over to the window, still looking on. “I'm on my way.”

/\

**stolen moments**

It's little things.

Like Ace leaning over to kiss the top of her head, when she's sitting at a table refilling salt shakers in the Claw, as he's about to head off to help his Dad with some computer related problem down at the police station. How her cheeks flush as if she's a schoolgirl with a first crush, because it's just so sickly sweet, she doesn't know how else to react.

“Hey,” she calls him back, after he's taken a few steps away, puckering her lips briefly.

Pride is taken in the smile it puts on his face, as he returns to kiss her properly goodbye, then is off again without further interruption. She sighs happily, still unsure how to deal with the feeling, but letting it resonate none the less.

A throat is cleared behind her, Nancy's eyes widening with embarrassment that anyone would have witnessed the moment, and turns cautiously to see George standing there with eyebrows raised.

“The two of you are disgusting,” she states flatly, then wanders off to the office.

-

When she reaches out to hold the end of Ace's jacket between her fingers, it is not a conscious act.

He's close enough to touch, but the moment feels inappropriate to do something like hold his hand, when the group is formed in a circle on the beach. Brainstorming how to break the case of an ancient shipwreck, that had sent a dozen souls howling toward Horseshoe Bay, despite the fact that they and their ship had been dormant under the sea for centuries.

Ace found records in the Harbormasters database, about a salvage operation that had stumbled upon an ancient galleon called the Golden Wreathe, while actually looking to reclaim a slightly less old cargo vessel that had capsized sometime in the forties.

“Why doesn't anybody in this town leave the dead to rest?” George asks rhetorically.

Everyone shares a look of agreement off the statement.

“Yeah but,” Nick interjects. “Just finding a shipwreck doesn't automatically set ghosts free. If it did the entire east coast would be a never ending haunted house.”

Bess chimes in that vessel had been carrying a wedding present for a nobleman in the colonies, some kind of giant emerald held in a necklace of silver, when a storm blew the ship off course before finally sinking off the coast of Maine.

“Sounds like the kind of totem a bunch of angry ghosts would attach themselves to,” Ace offers up.

Nancy's hand bunches in his jacket when he speaks, and he looks to her with the hint of a smile, before focus is shifted back to the group who are looking at the two of them warily.

-

It's a rare quiet evening, when Nancy and Ace are sitting on the couch in his living room, watching a monster movie from the fifties she isn't familiar with. Nancy's head rests comfortably in the crook of his arm, while it extends over her shoulder, very much the cuddled couple that just a few months ago she never would have imagined they'd be.

Neither of them has said anything in nearly twenty minutes. Normally such silence and inaction would drive Nancy crazy. There is always something to do. Some case to solve. Some wrong to right. But it doesn't. His calming influence affecting in such subtle ways, as having the patience for a movie night with her boyfriend.

As if sensing these thoughts within in her, Ace glances down the moment she looks up, and the pair break into simultaneous grins.

“I know this isn't really your thing,” he begins.

“It's fine,” she's quick to cut him off. “I mean, good. This is really- It's good.”

His gaze turns mildly scrutinizing.

“I'm serious,” she assures, giving his side a squeeze.

He waits, knowing she'll keep going if she wants.

“But sometimes,” she continues. “It feels like I don't deserve things like this.”

Ace doesn't ask her to define what exactly 'this' means.

“Like, if I let myself slow down, even for a moment, the universe will just catch back up and knock me around some more.”

Nancy's eyes fall closed as Ace presses a kiss atop her head. The gesture becoming somewhat of a trademark of his affections.

“The way I see it,” he says. “The universe has wronged you a lot more than you have the other way around.”

He does not elaborate on these wrongs, but the laundry list runs through her mind.

“And it is okay,” he goes on. “More than okay, to let yourself have a little quiet time, watching cheesy horror movies with me.”

Her chin nudges into his chest, mumbling something he cant quite hear.

“Huh?”

She groans against his shirt, exhaling loudly.

“Nothing.”

He doesn't press, not that she thought he would, turning back to the movie.

“This part is really awful,” he states. “You should pay attention.”

She doesn't, shifting up to kiss him instead, and is met with no objection.

/\

**nights in New England**

Nancy talks in her sleep.

While this doesn't exactly surprise Ace, he wasn't expecting to be woken up at, what time is it? Reaching for his phone proves to be more complicated than it should be, not wanting to disturb the slumbering girl cuddled against his chest, as his arm extends as far as it can go to reach the device left on an end table.

Four-thirty in the morning.

Wait, what time had he fallen asleep?

Wait, is he in Nancy's house?

Wait, Nancy is talking in her sleep. Which is how this situation began basically. He glances down to her, face smushed into his shirt, still mumbling against him. It sounds like... Groceries? Concentrating on the words doesn't really make them any clearer, despite what books and TV lead you to believe, but he's pretty sure she just said salt.

Kosher salt, specifically.

_Ground red pepper. Paprika. Heavy cream, three tablespoons._

Oh.

It's a recipe for crab cakes.

Thinking on that a moment, he's never known Nancy to cook, and wonders if it's something her Mom used to make. Or, if she picked it up from talking to Jacques the chef down at the Claw.

_Sliced green onion. Breadcrumbs._

He's not supposed to wake her up, is he? Or is that dangerous? No, that's sleepwalking.

_One egg white. Mayonnaise, two tablespoons._

Lifting a hand he runs it carefully along her hair, thinking it best to let her keep sleeping, even if the continuing recital of the recipe is now making him hungry. Sighing, he lets his head rest against the couch, eyes closing to the sound.

_Parsley. One tablespoon, finely chopped._

/\

**noble sacrifice**

“So,” Bess begins, reaching over to pull a stray thread from Ace's jacket, before flicking it into the chilly night air. “Were you ever going to tell me?”

Ace watches the thread float around a moment, before losing sight, turning to his friend with a questioning look. Her eyes flick to the bandage on his head. The mystery of a string of bank robberies solved, ended with flashing lights and sirens, their friends talking to each other or the various police officers on scene. Nancy in particular, is talking to Lisbeth next to a cruiser, while Bess and Ace are seated on the back of an ambulance.

“You know I adore this little group of ours,” she carries on. “As I'm sure each of us does. But I'm not so sure how many of us individuals are willing to take the butt of a gun to their head for another's protection.”

Ace merely shrugs.

“Better than them shooting Nancy,” he states.

Bess gasps.

“Was that your intention?” she questions. “To get that thief to shoot you instead?”

Ace doesn't look at her.

“How noble,” she admits. “Dreadfully, stupidly, noble. What would we have done? Had they actually shot you?” Choking back tears, she resists the urge to smack him soundly, voice dropping to a whisper. “What would I have done without my plantanchor?”

Ace reaches for her hand.

“I'm sorry.”

She squeezes it tightly, sliding a little closer to him, and resting her head against his arm.

“Yes well,” she sighs. “I suppose that further reiterates my point.”

“About?”

“About your not telling me that you're in love with Nancy.”

He neither confirms, nor denies. Which is inherently frustrating. Really, most days she has no bloody clue how his mind works.

“I trust her,” he gives instead. “A lot more than I should sometimes. But I know-”

“What you feel in your heart,” she finishes for him. “Even if you can't admit it to me, at the very least, do it for yourself.”

“Bess-”

“And don't tried to feed me some nonsense about her not feeling the same way. Honestly, how can you not notice the way she looks at you? All that time you spend together? Yes, you trust her. But can you sincerely tell me, that same trust does not exist for you?”

They're quiet a moment.

“So,” he wonders aloud. “How does she look at me?”

Bess chuckles softly.

“Like you hang the moon.”

Ace's arm shifts to wrap around her shoulder, grateful to have such a friend after yet another near death experience.

“Buck up and kiss her one of these days, yeah? I can't imagine she'll object.”

He snorts a laugh.

“Sometimes, I'm still not used to you being English.”

/\

**gratitude**

If this were any other moment, she might have thought, _oh._

If this were any other time, she might have looked, _hello._

If her life weren't at all surrounded with enough drama to fill a library worth of books, Ace's steadfast earnestness might have gone unnoticed. But the cute guy with a luxurious head of hair, washing dishes while she waited tables, offering a relaxed commentary the on mundane existence of restaurant life would have caught her eye.

Like he does now.

Standing there in the room of her former paramour, offering an ear to listen, and maybe a shoulder to lean upon. It strikes her in a way she doesn't expect. Breaking through a heart surrounded by death and darkness. Lies and cover ups. Truth always wanted, but full of regret when given.

If this were any other circumstance, she might moved, _thanks._

Into his arms with her head pressed against his chest, letting the tears that have built up like a dam waiting to burst, to flow freely. Instead she merely looks at him, an appreciation welling up inside to rival those tears, and finds she can state at least that much.

“I really appreciate that.”

It's hard to think of the last time she'd actually felt gratitude. How foreign it seems, given to him, weighing her down ever so slightly to the right.

“If I find the words, I will share them with you.”

And that's it, the moment passed, he doesn't ask or offer anything more. But she takes note. Something is there between them. Hopefully it still will be, if and when she's ready to pick it up.

/\

**down the line**

They don't die.

George and Nick don't drown. Bess doesn't get set alight. Ace doesn't end up on a hook. Nancy doesn't fall off a cliff.

They don't die, despite being precariously close to edge of a cliff, the spot they stand not claiming a second in Lucy's bloodline tonight. Their debt paid with a sacrifice all promised to never speak of again. The sea is black, with the moon's reflection slashing across the surface, each one in the group taking a moment of contemplation for the events they just went through.

“Okay,” George states breaking the moment. “I am getting the hell out of here.”

She takes off without looking back, and Nick is quick to follow. Bess shoots a look to Ace and Nancy, before pointing to their retreating friends.

“I sort of came with them,” she gives. “So maybe I should...”

Moving to catch up with the duo, Nancy and Ace are left standing on the cliff side, he with hands in pocket, she with arms wrapped around herself.

“So that was-”

“Never to be spoken of again,” Nancy cuts him off.

“Right,” Ace agrees with a nod. “My bad.”

Nancy peers over the edge, for once not seeing the echo of her birth mother's death, or her own. Just the ocean below, crashing against the rocks as it always does. Ace remains stoic at her side, letting Nancy have her moment, and smiles softly when it passes. Reaching into her pocket, she pulls out the car keys, and jingles them at Ace.

“Need a ride?”

He looks at her, confused. They'd arrived together before the big showdown, so it would stand to reason she would give him a ride home without having to offer. He shrugs, rather than convey this confusion aloud.

“Sure,” accepted with another smile.

She doesn't move though, gazing up at him in a way he's only begun to notice, and steps forward as if she's going to embrace him but stops herself instead.

“I still haven't found the words,” she says.

He wasn't expecting that. For her to bring it up, even if just to say that she still can't talk about Owen or her birth parents, without provocation.

“Maybe you never will,” he replies. “And that's okay. I'm here either way.”

Tears well in her eyes, and he knows it's not because of what he said, but still feels guilty as if the responsibility lies with him. He reaches for her, doesn't stop himself as she had, and knows it is the right move when she slides readily into his arms.

She cries easily after that and he absorbs them as best he can, knowing it's not because of words she can't find but the ongoing nightmare these past few months has been, letting his cheek rest atop her head. Eyes close against the waves crashing below, offering unyielding empathy, as all the pent up sorrow finally releases from Nancy.

Then just as soon as it begin, she pushes back to wipe away any residual tears, sniffling but smiling genuinely at him.

“Thanks,” she gives. “I really needed that.”

Nodding, he lifts a hand to caress her cheek, thumb wiping away a residual streak.

“Missed one,” he states.

That smile grows wider, her own hand moving to cover his, and new words cannot be found for this moment forged between them. Each understanding there can be more. Will be more. A little further down the line.

/\

**slight of hand**

“We need a key card,” Nancy laments. “If we ever want to get into that storage room.”

A storage room in the hospital basement, supposedly where a clever drug dealer, has some kind of siphoning operation for medical grade painkillers going on. Nancy isn't totally convinced the word of a detoxing morphine addict could be counted as reliable, but Ace didn't seem the harm in taking a look, and she was most likely going to end up here regardless. Getting into the basement is easy enough, but of course every door inside has a magnetic lock requiring a key card.

They make way up into the hospital proper, planning to lift one off a staff member somehow, though that part of the plan isn't quite clear yet.

“There's one,” Ace informs, nodding his head toward a security guard standing in front of a vending machine, with an ID card in plain sight clipped to his belt.

“Okay,” Nancy confirms. “The question is how to get it?”

She sighs.

“Where's Bess when we need her?”

Ace doesn't answer, walking toward the security guard, as Nancy's eyes widen while she reaches out and just misses to pull him back. Even now, after they'd gotten to know each other a lot better over the past year, she can never quite put her finger on how his brain works.

The security guard can't seem to make his mind up over what snack he wants out of the machine, while Ace casually comes to a stop behind him, as if he's simply waiting for his turn. The guard turns back to offer a look of apology, and Nancy can't help to bite her lip at the interaction, while Ace says something she can't quite hear.

The guard laughs, a deep baritone echoing down the hall, before turning back to the machine and pressing a few buttons. It happens so fast, she almost misses it, Ace lifting the card easily off the guard while he bends down to retrieve his snack.

He points the bright yellow package at Ace as if to say thanks, before walking off in the opposite direction, and Nancy watches as her partner in crime reaches into his own pocket for some loose change.

Offering up the candy bar to Nancy on his return, Ace shrugs when she shakes her head no, and slips it into his jacket for later. She can't help but look at him with a bit of wonder, because he manages to keep doing this, surprise her in the most confounding of ways.

His eyebrow quirks in an unasked question, and she doesn't hide the smile that comes, reaching for the bottom of his jacket to tug him along.

“What did you say to him?” she asks as they backtrack to the basement stairs. “To make him laugh like that.”

“Bit o' honey,” he answers evenly. “So good in my tummy.”

Nancy snickers at the old candy jingle.

“It was,” he goes on. “What we in the biz, call misdirection.”

She shoots back a look.

“So you're a magician now?”

“Not a magician per se,” he gives. “More slight of hand. Card tricks. Stuff like that.”

It's both unforeseen, yet not at all, that he would be capable of such things and never let on.

“You'll have to show me sometime,” she states. “How good you are.”

His lips purse, as he offers up the key card lithely between two fingers.

“Was this not impressive?”

Nancy clucks her tongue.

“In a shock kind of way,” she allows. “But I was thinking of something with more awe.”

“Something for the big stage,” he confirms with a nod. “Got it.”

The stairs to the basement are just ahead, and they both take a cursory look around to make sure they go unnoticed, before slipping through down them. The key card works easily on the door, and they are greeted inside by boxes of plastic viles, with some kind of machine that doesn't quite look like it belongs in a hospital.

“Looks like the intel was good,” Ace offers.

“Looks like,” Nancy agrees, reaching for her phone so they can snap a few pictures, but frowns when she finds something else in her pocket instead. Pulling out the candy bar, she turns to Ace, who is waving his hands back and forth.

“Ta-daaa!”

/\

**three hours, twenty-one minutes**

Nancy loves her car.

It's sleek. It's unique. It's quite possibly the only Sunbeam Alpine in the entire state of Maine. However sports cars are manufactured for fun, not long distance driving. While three hours and twenty-one minutes might not be entirely too long in retrospect, is certainly feels that way on her legs and back, Horseshoe Bay to Houlton a drive she wasn't expecting to make.

Ace doesn't complain. Not that she expected he would. But he does shake both his legs as if they'd fallen asleep, his tall frame tucked into the tiny bucket seats, as they exit the vehicle. The motel sign says vacancy, not that she expected otherwise, even if it might be the only one in town.

The pair share a look, and walk into the office together, securing a room for the night. The clerk has them sign their names into an old fashioned register, before handing them an actual key instead of a card, and focusing back on the TV show they'd been watching before the interruption. They have no luggage to collect from the car, this trip as spontaneous as chasing down any other lead in Nancy's detective career, following it to the only witness of a shooting in Horseshoe Bay nearly fifteen years ago.

A waft of stale air hits them as soon as the door opens, Ace reaching to the light switch, and the duo pauses at the sight of a single bed.

“We didn't specify,” he's quick to comment. “I'm sure they just assumed-”

“It's fine,” Nancy cuts him off. “I really don't feel like going back there and having to explain the need for two beds. Unless you-”

“No, it's cool.”

Nancy smirks at him, moving toward the TV and turning it on just to have some ambient noise in the room, before letting her bag drop on the stand next to it.

“I can take the floor,” he offers. “You know, in the sake of being a gentleman.”

Nancy glances at the carpet and frowns.

“I wouldn't let my dog sleep on this floor,” she insists. “We can share.”

Despite making the offer, Ace looks relieved he wasn't taken up on it.

“You have a dog?”

Nancy sits on the edge of the bed.

“When I was a kid,” she answers. “Togo. The sweetest little nightmare of a terrier.”

Ace laughs.

“I had a goldfish.”

They share a look, before Nancy pats the bed, and Ace moves to sit the opposite side of her.

“So we find this Cheryl Morton first thing in the morning,” Nancy declares.

“Okay,” Ace agrees. “But maybe...”

Nancy's brow lifts curiously.

“We can get breakfast before that?”

-

Nancy's eyes snap open, and for a moment she doesn't know where she is, or why she fell asleep in her clothes. The TV is still on across the room, some infomercial for a kitchen appliance that probably doesn't work exactly as advertised, and her head is most definitely not resting on a stiff motel pillow. Ace's chest rises and falls underneath her cheek, a slow and easy pace indicative he's out pretty good, and she hopes it's enough for her to move without waking him.

She doesn't move however, feeling oddly comfortable, despite the obvious discomfort of sleeping fully clothed in a two star motel. It's quite nice, actually. Especially if she ignores the fact that she subconsciously gravitated toward him in the middle of the night. Just like she ignores the fact that he volunteers to accompany her for all of their mysteries lately. That he didn't even hesitate to jump in the car with her, and drive all the way to a town mere miles from the Canadian border.

Taking a breath, she almost laughs, because he smells like the Claw. Salt, soap, and seafood. Like home. Eyes getting heavy once more, she wonders if they'll wake up like this in the morning, huddled together as if it's something they do now. His heartbeat echoes in her ear strong and steady, and she drifts off again thinking that this mystery building between them, is just waiting to be solved.


	2. Chapter 2

**nudge nudge, wink wink**

“You two are just darling,” Laura offers, pointing with two fingers at the couch where they can have a seat. “Tell me, how long have you been together?”

Nancy and Ace exchange a look.

“Well actually,” Ace begins, but Nancy is quick to elbow him on the down low.

“Just over a year,” she fills in.

“Right,” Ace agrees. “Sometimes friendship is just ready for that extra step.”

Nancy's eyes widen, hoping he doesn't start creating an necessary backstory.

“I mean when you know, you know yeah?”

Laura hums in agreement, taking a seat in a lavish armchair directly across from them.

“Now,” she beings, steeping her fingers. “You said you had some questions?”

Nancy clears her throat, scooting to the edge of the couch, ready to get down to business. But then Ace completely throws her off guard by reaching over to take her right hand in his left. She balks momentarily, a tremendous act of will power keeping her head from turning to him, but the question that was perched on her tongue falls clumsily away.

“Uuuuh,” is all that come out of her mouth, eyes darting down to their entwined fingers, heat suddenly filling her cheeks when he gives a reassuring squeeze. “Questions,” she repeats. “I definitely had some questions.”

Ace leans forward, but doesn't let go.

“We were wondering if you still talked to your son,” he asks in her stead.

Laura's smile never wavers on her face, but something flashes behind her eyes.

“Frank?” she inquires. “Yes I speak with him quite often.”

Nancy and Ace exchange another look.

“As a matter of fact,” he goes on. “We meant Joe.”

The name does cause a twitch in Laura's smile, it faltering before finally falling.

“Of course you did,” she mutters, then sighs. “What's he done now?”

Nancy had expected this. Joe's rap sheet riddled with misdemeanors nearly two pages long. Teenage vandalism progressing into drunk and disorderly. Those charges beget to barroom brawls over gambling debts. Resisting arrest. Jumping bail.

“Are you collectors?” Laura wonders. “Because I can assure you, I am no longer his proxy. Whatever he's responsible for, I can't and won't, pay it on his behalf.”

“Not at all,” Nancy is quick to assure. “We wanted to know if you if you spoke to him because, I guess we're the ones to tell you this, he's gone missing.”

Laura manages to look more tired than concerned.

“Probably on a bender,” she gives. “I'd start calling the drunk tank of whatever town he ran off to... I mean, if he... If he still...” She sighs. “To be completely honest, we haven't spoken in nearly two years. I couldn't tell you where to find him.”

Ace still hasn't let go of her hand. It feels oddly inappropriate considering the turn in conversation and the subject matter.

“He's better now,” Ace gives to the older woman. “Been clean for nearly two of those three years you haven't spoken. Earned his PI license, and from what we hear is a damn fine investigator.”

Laura looks at him, confused.

“I don't understand,” she says. “If that's true, then why... Why come to me? If you know those things about him and I don't, why would you think to come here?”

“Because he was looking into Susie Derkins kidnapping,” Nancy answers. “Which as you know, is a national case. But now it's been seventy-two hours, and no one has heard from him either. We thought that, considering the importance of the work, he might have contacted you-”

  
“Well he didn't,” Laura cuts her off. “I'm sorry.”

Ace nods with acceptance of this fact.

“Frank is the one you should be talking to,” Laura offers. “They were as thick as thieves before Joe's downward spiral. Might still be. Frank would keep that to himself if he thought it would protect my feelings. I can give you his number if you like.”

They already have it, Frank being the first one they contacted but never got a call back, coming here only on the slim chance that Joe may have broken his silence.

“That would be really helpful,” Ace accepts. “Thank you.”

Laura pulls a cell phone from her pocket, momentarily fiddling with the device.

“I do hate this thing,” she gripes. “Now lets see, how do I get to my contacts?”

Nancy leans in close to Ace.

“You gonna let go of my hand anytime soon?” she whispers.

“Not in front of her no,” he replies honestly.

“Oh here it is!” Laura exclaims, leaning forward to offer her other sons phone number to them.

Nancy pulls out her own phone, mimics typing in the number, then thanks Laura for her cooperation. Ace rises from his seat in tune with Nancy, keeping his word in not letting her go, as Laura walks them to the door.

“Thank you,” the elder woman gives. “Despite the trouble he's in now, I'm grateful to know my boy has pulled himself together.”

“No problem,” Ace accepts with an easy shrug.

Laura then leans close to Nancy, speaking in a stage whisper, and giving a big wink.

“You hold onto this one dear,” she says. “He's a keeper.”

Nancy offers up their still entwined hands.

“Will do,” she assures.

/\

**idlewild**

When Nancy wants answers, she gets them.

When she has a hunch, it is surely followed.

When she knows she's right, nothing can get in her way.

Ace's arms are wrapped around her, fingers entwined on the small of her back, while her head rests comfortably against his chest. She doesn't know why this embrace has happened. He'd simply looked at her, as he always does with patience and understanding, while in the middle of one her case related breakdowns. Next think she knows, they're like this and it's nice. So nice there's a fleeting thought of why would she ever let go? Why let this perfect little moment pass, just to let the outside world come along and muss it all up? Why had they never done this before?

She doesn't ask, though the questions are circling within her mind. Ace is good. Ace is kind. Ace is...

Why is it him of all people that just seems to get her? To have no expectations. To trust her so implicitly she fears one day he'll follow too close, and they'll both fall victim to her stubbornness.

She's never believed there is one person in all the world made for someone else. Too many variables in the equation. Too many disappointments ready to happen. Life too fleeting for something as fickle as love, to be set in such stone.

Ace's cheek rests gently atop her head, and without looking, she knows his eyes are closed. Enjoying the moment just as she. His mind however, certainly isn't going a mile a minute, trying to process what it means between them.

Knowing him, he's probably just thinking that her hair smells good. Botanical shampoo that is scented with strawberry. He's probably thinking, this is nice, and leaving it at that. A moment shared with a friend who kind of, sort of, maybe wants to kiss him.

No way is he thinking that.

The idea that she would be, that is.

He might think of kissing her. Maybe he thinks about it more than she does. How her eyes always find his first. How they're paired off so consistently, no one in the group even questions it anymore. Though they mutter and suspect, not one of them dares ask a question neither she, nor Ace could answer.

How long has this moment gone on?

Wow, she does not want to let go.

His heart beats steady in her ear, and she reaffirms her hold with a gentle squeeze. It's odd, but she swears she can feel his smile against her hair, in a confirmation that he's enjoying himself just as much as she is.

Why you? She wonders again. Where did you even come from? Here in this nowhere town, with their paths never crossing, until a seafood restaurant that's empty nearly half a year. Until a discovery of ghosts being real, and blood debts needing to be paid. Of lies and another life she might have had, if not for tragedy and circumstance.

Would you have understood me then? Nancy thinks. Still a dead girl's daughter, and a rich boy's teenage mistake, but a life lived with the truth. Truth she always claims to want, but hisses against the sting like everyone else when given it. Would she have come to that restaurant? Seen the cute guy washing dishes just as Laura Tandy had, and thought why not?

A sudden gust kicks up from the ocean, causing her cheek to nuzzle ever more so against him, and he responds by squeezing back just at tight. It feels like the next step taken, without either one of them ever having to move their feet.

When she kisses him, it's not because she wants answers, has a hunch or know she's right.

It's to keep herself from standing still.

/\

**first encounter**

Nancy didn't expect her feet to hurt this much.

Taking the first ten minute break, of her first shift, of her first ever waitress gig. She skips sitting in the locker room, needing some fresh air, after two and a half hours of smelling fried fish and lemon. A cool breeze comes off the water, instantly chilling the June evening, but it's not sea salt she smells. Head turning to a puff of smoke wafting upward from behind the dumpster, she makes way around the receptacle, the dishwasher coming into view with phone in hand and a joint in his mouth.

Nancy doesn't say anything at first, but her shoes make enough noise that his head snaps up, and he quickly pulls the joint from his mouth. Putting it out by licking between his thumb and index finger, smoldering the tip.

“Relax,” she states, amused. “I'm not a narc.”

An easy smile pulls at his lips, as he takes a small plastic tube from his pocket, and slips the joint inside.

“Good to know,” he offers back, eyes returning to the phone, with his fingers working oddly fast on the device.

She plans to walk over the bench in which she meant to sit, not having this job to make friends, or any other reason beside killing time while she figured things out. But there is something in that he doesn't try to pursue a conversation in a way she's used to, piques her interest. Bess, from what little Nancy has gathered about her, abhors silence and does anything she can to fill it. George, for all her grudges kept since high school, rarely keeps quiet about anything.

Ace however, seems to have no trouble keeping mum about most things, despite oddly friendly banter he attempts with his coworkers when he actually does speak. He doesn't seem upset that she halted his attempt at getting high, so focused on the phone, that is not the one she's seen him use on a daily basis.

The natural curiosity of where he'd gotten it, itches inside her mind, and the question comes out before she can help herself.

“What are you doing to that phone?”

His fingers don't stop when he looks back up at her, finishing their task without the assistance of his eyes, and for a moment she's almost impressed.

“This phone?” He questions.

Her eyebrows lift, much as they always had when she questioned a suspect, and knew she was being lied to.

“Yes,” she deadpans. “The one that isn't yours.”

His fingers finally stop what they're doing.

“You're cool about the legality of recreational drugs,” he begins. “But how do you feel about jail breaking electronic devices?”

She doesn't know what that means. But anything with the word jailbreak in it can't be legal in whatever sense. Still, much like his love of weed, it's not her business or her problem.

“I have no opinions either way,” she replies.

That smile of his again. It must work wonders with the right kind of girl.

“Well, that's what I'm doing.”

She nods, still curious.

“That means what, exactly?”

Ace doesn't look quite sure if she's serious or not. Maybe. Truth be told, he always looks like that.

“It means,” he says. “That I am taking away any and all restrictions on this device, preset by the manufacturer.”

Nancy nods with the answer.

“Oh.” She thinks a moment. “You're doing that why?”

Ace shrugs.

“It's a hobby.”

He doesn't elaborate, and she's used up most of her social graces just having the small conversation, turning to take what's left of her break on that bench.

“Nice talking to you,” he calls to her back. “Nancy Drew.”

The smile happens as though she can't help it, but she doesn't turn back to give him the satisfaction.

/\

**free period**

“I hear that girl is dangerous,” Jimmy states, nodding in the direction of said girl, who has just entered the library.

_But she's wearing a cardigan,_ is the first thought in Ace's mind, after he turns to look. Fingers slowing coming to a stop on the keyboard, he's seen her somewhere before. Where though? Not in class, because she has freshman written all over her, but he is good with faces. Knows hers has come across his field of vision at some point in time.

Jimmy nudges him back to the game, secretly installed and networked on all the computers in the school, but Ace suddenly lacks concentration for it. His curiosity getting the better of him.

“Just how,” he begins. “Is she dangerous?”

Jimmy's eyes don't leave the screen.

“According to Terrance Williams,” he answers. “She is really good at sticking her nose into other people's business, finding lost things, and getting the chief of police mad at her.”

Ace looks at her again, waiting impatiently for one of the staff to notice she's standing there.

“Of course Terrance is a pillar of accurate information,” he teases.

Jimmy shrugs.

“Just telling you what she said,” he informs. “Practically the whole school knows who that girl is. When's the last time you could said that about a freshman?”

Outside of movies from the eighties, about the uprising of nerds from the lowly totem pole, Ace never felt like such class separation was still a thing. But apparently archaic ideas still linger.

“I don't know who she is,” he states.

Jimmy types something onto his keyboard, Ace's character in the game dies instantly.

“Yes!” he whisper screams in a delight. “Suck on that!”

Ace looks at him, waiting.

“Oh, right. She's Nancy something. Two first names, I think. Uh...”

“I thought you said the whole school knows who she is,” Ace teases.

“I said practically,” Jimmy retorts, the snaps his fingers. “Drew. That's it. Nancy Drew.”

The name clicks instantly in Ace's mind, matching the face of a girl he's seen on the front page of a newspaper in the captain's office. Nancy Drew, teen detective, found a family heirloom of a silver necklace worth a few hundred thousand dollars.

The girl, Nancy is tapping her fingers against the counter, while Mrs. Bradshaw the librarian nods at something that was said, before going into the back room. Ace watches as she hops up, and halfway leans over the counter, snatching something from the other side before sliding back to her feet.

Ace smiles.

She's dangerous, alright.

/\

**in my room**

Nancy manages to wait five whole seconds, before rising from her perch on the edge of Ace's bed, to nose around a bit.

There's a desk underneath the window, where he's got Frankenstein's monster of a computer sitting in pieces, which surprisingly seems to be the only sign of disarray in the room. Despite her assumption that he probably just rolled out of it everyday, the bed is made. There are no clothes on the floor. No dishes left sitting around. For the stereotypical slacker type, he keeps his things pretty well maintained.

An acoustic guitar rests in the corner, though by the thin layer of dust on its surface, hasn't been touched in awhile. Never having mentioned he played at all, much like anything she discovers him to be capable of, she wonders if he's any good. Peering quickly into the closet, there's nothing inside of note but clothes, though a hockey jersey for the Maine Black Bears catches her eye. Yet another thing about him she never would have guessed.

The entire wall opposite the bed, is taken up by a collection of bookshelves, filled from top to bottom. A brief moment of guilt arises for making countless assumptions about him, while never bothering to ask for clarification, even with the knowledge his mother is a librarian she never took him for the reading type.

Dozens of sci-fi novels line the first shelf she inspects, causing a small grin, because this is something she definitely would have presumed about his interests. Moving on to the computer language guides, introduction to network mapping, and various other tech based tomes she would have no idea how to read.

Biographies are what catch her eye next, the spectrum of people ranging from Ghandi to Katherine Johnson, to Mister Rogers. There are three books about American sign language, and six for French (with one raising an eyebrow because she's never seen a guide solely for Quebecois before.) Also there's quite a few books on plant cultivating, which she can't help to scoff at, knowing Ace isn't so crazy as to try growing a certain recreational herb in the same house as his former police captain father.

Nancy's head tilts to the last shelf, the familiar blue spines catching her eye, but thinking there's no way he would have them. Crouching down she pulls the first one from its place, the instant memory of a mother who technically wasn't, giving the present of a treasured collection from her own youth.

_Smart Girl Detective: Tracy True, and the Mystery of the Antique Hourglass._

She wonders if Ace's own mother gifted these to him, never tried to push the male counterparts of the series on him, and somehow knows without knowing it to be correct. Looking back to the shelf, he's got the first fifteen from the collection, just one off from her own.

Ace comes back into the room then, with two cups of coffee in hand, and doesn't seem at all bothered from the sight of her going trough his things.

“A classic,” he says with a nod to the book still in her hand.

“Agreed,” Nancy agrees. “But a little surprising to find them here.”

Ace hands her one of the cups.

“Why is that?”

_Inherited misogyny?_ Nancy thinks, but doesn't say. Because boys read boy books, and girls read... Never mind.

“I just would have thought...” She clears her throat. “Your parents might have pushed the Gumshoe Brothers on you.”

Ace sips his coffee before answering.

“Fred and John? Nah. Read one of their stories when I was six, but they weren't really my thing. Tracy True, though. Precocious girl detective? Might have been my first fictional crush.”

Nancy can't help to smile at the revelation, before blowing onto the coffee given.

“Which one is your favorite?” she asks.

Ace doesn't hesitate for an answer.

“Crime of the Ancient Mariner.”

Nancy nods, having read that one herself.

“And that's your favorite because?”

“It's set in Maine,” he gives. “Small fishing town. Felt very familiar.”

Nancy, trying to hide another smile, finally sips her coffee.

“That it did.”


	3. Chapter 3

### un baiser sur les lèvres

-

Nancy breaks the kiss without really meaning to.

A deep breath follows the absence of contact, her eyes fluttering open to meet his, both their mouths curling into matching smiles. Ace doesn't say anything. Not that she expected him to, because the words do not come to her either. Instead there is only the goosebumps that dot her skin. Toes that curl inside her shoes, because wow. She did not expect him to be such a good kisser.

Sitting on the hood of her car, with arms wrapped easily around his neck, Nancy cannot recall just how they came into such a position. How Ace effortlessly occupies the space between her legs, the inside of her knees brushing against the outside of his thighs, with head dipping just so that their lips can easily meet.

He's waiting for a reaction. An indication. Anything.

Nancy's arms pull back ever so slightly, fingers twining through the ends of his hair, bringing him down for another.

Wow. Again. She has really got to stop making assumptions about him.

The carefree stoner. The zen drifter. The tech savvy slacker.

They are just parts of him. The ones he lets the world see.

But the closer Nancy gets, the more she wants to know.

Who are you really? She wants to ask. Because if life has taught her anything, it's that kindness and compassion usually come with a price tag. Yet here he exists. Giving both away to anyone willing to accept them. Expecting nothing in return. Remaining steadfast in these beliefs, simply because he knows no other way to be.

She wants to laugh and suddenly does, kiss number two dispersed in a fit of giggles. Ace goes right along with her, and it's not as awkward as she expects. Both hold on until the amusement fades, his right hand moving to caress her cheek, as she instinctively leans into his touch.

“Secrets out,” he says softly.

Her eyes flick to his, a single brow arching in lieu of asking a question.

“That I like you,” he gives.

Nancy bites her lip, her gaze turning playful.

“Ace,” she teases, bringing him back for more. “It was hardly a secret.”

/\

### give up the ghost

-

“You almost died.”

Nancy doesn't need to be reminded. The honey trap of a reality that could have been hers, if only a few dominoes never fell, slowly sucking the life from her body. Trapped in a box full of whispers, giving her a dream she thought had stopped being wished for, all while taking something of its own. Yes, Nancy almost died. But she's still here, turning away from Ace's concerned face and doing what she always does, by burying it deep down.

“Yeah,” she agrees. “But I didn't.”

Ace accepts this with a nod.

“Neither did I.”

That snaps her head back to him quick. A reminder of what also happened, something she didn't know was needed. Ace wasn't trapped by forces beyond them. Wasn't given a glimpse at something better, while paying the price with his soul. No. He was taken by simple human greed, and the wish to cover ones tracks. Left broken and bloody on the asphalt, jarred so hard his spirit was pried loose and left to wander not in a land of honey, but a frozen tundra of despair. He almost died, and it's absurd he didn't, considering the carnage.

“Ace...”

She doesn't know what else to say, leaving his name hanging between them. Wondering why their paths seem to cross in the most bizarre of ways. This, a subject she wouldn't wish to have in common with anyone, let alone a person slowly but surely, becoming a confidant.

“Don't worry about it,” he's quick to dismiss.

Never one to judge people or hold things against them, it makes her smile, however sad it may come across. He returns it, and for whatever reason, makes her laugh, quick to give him a playful pat on the arm.

“We could start a club,” she suggests.

“I survived my own afterlife?” he offers.

“That,” she starts, her smile quickly turning from sad to amused. “Is much better than what I would have come up with.”

Ace shrugs.

“It's a gift.”

/\

### escape

-

Nancy sighs, pouring rain pounding onto the pavement just as she exits the Claw, her brand new umbrella left leaning against the door frame back at home. Not that she would thought it would be needed, with the sun shining brightly overhead just a few hours earlier, but the pesky marine layer floating along the coast brought on a storm just to spite her.

It wouldn't be so bad if she hadn't parked at the opposite end of the lot today, as two delivery trucks were spread across most of the spaces when she pulled in, and basically has to run the length of a football field in this downpour.

Glancing back through the window, she wonders if there's a discarded newspaper or something else a customer left behind to be used as a makeshift shield, that may have missed while helping to clean up. Deciding not to bother, Nancy is half a second away from braving into the onslaught of rain drops, when the door opens and an umbrella opens just above her head.

“I got you,” Ace assures with a quirk of his lips.

She must look at him in some kind of way, because something in his eyes shifts as they dart down to her lips, then just as quickly shoot back up.

“How noble,” she says instead, though her inflection could be construed as ungracious.

Ace doesn't appear bothered by the tone, stepping into the rain with Nancy following closely, both pairs of shoes splashing against the puddles. Their shoulders brush as she scoots just a bit closer, the angle of water catching her elbow, pressing into him on instinct.

He keeps his eyes forward this time, the walk to her car somewhat slow, so as not to kick up splashes of water into their socks. A flash of lightning streaks across the bay, quickly followed by a boom of thunder, and Ace flinches at the sound much to her chagrin.

“Not scared of a little thunder are you?” she teases.

This time he does looks to her.

“Nah,” he denies. “Just caught me by surprise.”

He grins.

“Kind of like you.”

Now that in turn, catches her by surprise, as a flush creeps into her cheeks.

“What?”

The grin grows to a smile.

“And the rain?”

Oh. Right. Of course.

“Yes,” she agrees. “Maybe I should start keeping my umbrella in the trunk.”

Ace doesn't even hesitate a reply.

“It would have been just as useless there as at your house.”

Right again, but she doesn't agree out loud this time.

Ace stands patiently holding the umbrella above them, while Nancy digs through her purse for the keys, as another flash of lightning and echo of thunder strike. She's the one caught off guard this time, and nearly drops her keys on the ground, but Ace is quick to steady her hand with his free one.

“Thanks,” she mumbles, moving to unlock the door.

Ace steps aside as Nancy opens it, carefully tilting the umbrella to keep her covered as she slips inside, and is about to head to his own car when she rolls down the window.

“For record,” she begins. “I don't like piña coladas. Or getting caught in the rain.”

Even though she doesn't normally make such jokes, he laughs from the shock not the quality, and Nancy realizes she hasn't heard him do that very often. Feeling bold she reaches out to tug on the front of his jacket, to awkwardly pull him down, and catch him off guard again with a quick thank you kiss.

“For being a gentleman,” she states, then rolls up the window before she's tempted to do it again.

He's still standing there when Nancy glances in the review mirror, watching the car drive off, and finds herself very pleased by this as she pulls onto the road heading for home.

/\

**uncanny: aka let's give Nancy a twin sister for funsies au's that i never expanded on**

-

The bell above the door chimes, and though the restaurant appears to be empty, none of the staff seem to notice. Boots clomp on the hardwood floor, making their way toward the counter, when someone finally emerges from the back with a stack of menus in hand.

“Sorry,” George states, not looking up. “But we don't open for another fifteen minutes.”

“Good thing I'm not here to eat.”

George freezes at the sound of a familiar voice, turning to it slowly, eyes meeting an instantly recognizable face. The surprise must be written all over hers, because the visitor smirks in amusement, arms crossing as her eyebrows lift.

“The hell are you doing here?”

That smirk doesn't fade.

“Good to see you too, Georgie.”

Despite the slight irritation at the name, George drops the menus on a table, walking quickly toward her former best friend and nearly crushing her with a hug. One that is easily matched, despite an echo of the fight that had split them, ringing between each girl.

“Mandy,” George needles back, knowing that name hasn't been allowed since the girl turned thirteen and thought it made her sound like a toddler. “Seriously. What are you-?”

Before there's a chance to finish the question or even allow a response, Bess storms into the dining room with her phone in hand, announcing that Ace's car has broken down and he will be late. Stopping in her tracks at the sight of the embrace, she's momentarily confused, as the follow up message is that Nancy will be picking him up yet here she is.

“You're already here?” Bess questions. “But how-”

George interrupts with a laugh, which is quickly matched, while Bess stands there flustered wondering just what the joke could be.

“This is Amanda,” she fills in. “Nancy's sister.”

Bess' eyes widen like saucers.

“Sister?” she repeats, voice going ever higher. “Nancy's sister? This is Nancy's sister?”

George finally disengages herself from Amanda, nodding emphatically.

“Come on Bess,” she states. “You knew she had one.”

“Knew she had a sister yes,” Bess agrees, offering a hand toward Amanda. “Not a bloody twin!”

The pair share a look.

“Did you guys leave that part out?” Amanda asks.

George shrugs.

“I guess?”

Bess moves closer unable to keep the awe from her stare, reaching out for a poke, but George is quick to intercept and push her wrist down though Amanda does not appear at all offended.

“Nice to finally meet you,” she gives, though it comes out more a question.

Bess continues to stare.

“It's uncanny,” she comments.

George clears her throat dramatically.

“Moving on,” she starts. “Back to my original question, what are you doing here?”

Amanda's face turns serious.

“Woke up the other day gagging on a giant twine of seaweed,” she answers. “One that turned to sand when I finally caught my breath.”

George and Bess' eyes quickly find each other and Amanda notices.

“You two maybe want to fill me on some details Nancy has been leaving out of her phone calls?”

*

🤷♂️

“If you didn't have the same face,” George states, looking across the quad at all the popular kids congregating on the raised patio. “I'd say one of you was adopted.”

Amanda follows her friend's gaze to where her sister sits, laughing at something that was said, and shrugs. They have more in common than not, but as usual everyone (even her best friend who should know better), focuses on the superficial. That Nancy chooses the social side of things, while she prefers a more quiet existence, always seems to confound people. Like they're meant to share in every little thing until the day they die.

*

**no fun**

-

Red and blue lights flash across the darkness of night, Nancy talking to one of the officers she's gotten to know pretty well over the course their little hobby, while Amanda leans against a wall scrolling through her phone. Still no messages from George. Not that she expected there to be. Hoped? Absolutely. But still, nothing.

“Hey,” Nancy starts, suddenly in front of her. “Officer Greeves said we could go now.”

Amanda slips the phone back into her pocket, and starts to head for the car without a word. Nancy is quick to follow, eyeing her sister warily, as she's been in a mood all night. The need to press for information is instinctive, but she thinks better of it, if only for a moment.

“George still not talking to you?” she asks in a casual tone.

Amanda shoots her a look. The sour expression an answer in itself.

“Stop,” she warns.

Nancy's brow furrows.

“Stop wha-”

“I'm not a suspect,” Amanda cuts her off. “You don't have to be coy and trick me into spilling information.”

“That's not what I'm doing.”

Amanda stops in the middle of the sidewalk, but keeps her back facing Nancy.

“It's what you always do,” she says sharply. “I don't even think you realize it. Which might be even worse.”

Stung momentarily, Nancy still reaches a hand out to her sister's shoulder, but it immediately shrugged off. For a moment she's frozen, feeling the tears falling from Amanda's cheeks, though she can't see them. Taking a step closer, she keeps her hands to herself, hoping the proximity offers at least a little comfort.

“This isn't fun anymore,” Amanda states softly.

“What isn't?”

Amanda sniffles, lifting an arm to wipe away the tears.

“Being teen girl detectives. Shifting through everyone's dirty laundry. I'm sick of it.”

Nancy knows the fallout with George must be the cause of this sudden change of heart, and she can't help but be curious as to the why of it. Patiently waiting for Amanda to say something, anything, because they never keep things from each other. (Or so she thought.)

“What happened?” she asks instead. “With you and George?”

Amanda sniffs again, and for the briefest of moments, Nancy thinks she's going to storm off into the night rather than answer.

“I noticed something,” Amanda answers. “Something a regular kid wouldn't have given a second thought to. But we stopped being regular kids after Rose Turnbull, didn't we?”

Nancy knows better than to answer the rhetorical question, waiting for her to go on.

“Something turned into a clue,” Amanda continues. “A clue turned into a trail.”

She sighs.

“That trail led to a mystery, which was pitifully easy to solve, and then my best friend never wanted to speak to me again.”

Nancy pushes closer, momentarily pleased that Amanda doesn't pull away, leaning to rest her chin on her sister's shoulder.

“Do you know people hate us?” Amanda questions. “Like really, really hate us, for sticking our noses into their business.”

Nancy nods against her.

“It's a price to pay,” she agrees.

Amanda sighs again.

“Well I'm done paying,” she says. “And I'm done playing. This isn't some book series. We're not the Dana Girls.”

Nancy never thought they were, but doesn't say it aloud.

“What happened?” she asks again.

Amanda pulls away, finally turning around to face her sister.

“Sorry Nancy,” she offers. “That's not for you to know.”

I could find out, she thinks but doesn't say yet again. If it's upsetting you so much, why wouldn't I want to know? Why wouldn't I want to try and fix it? Amanda looks at her as if she knows exactly what Nancy is thinking.

“Don't go snooping around,” she warns. “Not this time.”

Nancy can't help but be a little defiant.

“You know that's not how I work.”

Amanda does not let it slide, eyes hardening.

“Promise me,” she starts, tears welling again. “You promise me to let this go. Or I swear-”

The defiance rapidly dissipates

“I promise,” Nancy cuts her off.

Amanda's relief is instantaneous, falling into her sister's arms.

“I mean it,” she sobs against Nancy's shoulder. “I'm not doing it anymore.”

Nancy reaches up to smooth a hand along Amanda's hair.

“Okay,” she concedes. “It's okay.”

/\

**any other day**

-

There's a cupcake sitting on the counter, when Nancy turns around from refilling the ketchup bottles, and she stares at the confection momentarily. There hadn't been any footsteps behind her, nor does she see someone now, waiting to take credit.

She knows why it's there. What day it happens to be. That she's only at work because an argument with George about special privileges was something she didn't want to deal with, and said nothing when seeing her name on the schedule. Also said nothing when arriving at the Claw, and was greeted as if it were just any other day. Something she is actually grateful for, because despite the complications of discovering the true origins of her birth, she's still a little sad her mom (moms?) is not around for the second year in a row.

A single candle burns within the pastry, and she loses a second to watching the flame flicker atop the tiny wick, before picking it up and blowing out the candle without ceremony. It smells good, she admits to herself. Once the small string of smoke clears and a whiff of sugary goodness hits her nose. Doesn't appear to be store bought either, strawberry frosting smeared awkwardly across the top, rather than swirled evenly with one of those decorating tools.

Glancing around the dining room, still no one comes out to take credit, and she shrugs before peeling away the liner to take a bite. Definitely home made, but from a box, like the kind she used to make in the at home with Kate 'still can't help to think of her as mom' Drew.

A bigger bite is taken, if only to have a mild sugar rush push that thought away, and the remaining half crumbles in her palm as Nancy struggles to chew with too much food in her mouth. Feeling like a cow munching cud, it take nearly thirty second to swallow it down, and once it goes she heads straight to the walk-in fridge for some milk.

Ace is the kitchen, doing some prep work because the chefs haven't shown up yet, and notes how his eyes flick to her as she passes. Drinking straight from the carton because she hadn't grabbed a glass on the way in, Nancy is careful to wipe where her mouth had been, before returning the milk to its spot on a shelf.

“What?” she inquires, as he's looking at her expectantly when emerging from the walk-in.

“Thirsty?” he comments with a grin.

Her mouth opens for a rebuttal, but finding none, exhales with a sigh and roll of her eyes.

“Kind of,” she admits, folding her arms and glancing around the kitchen.

It's then she sees the plastic tub resting on the counter just behind Ace's right elbow, and knows it's the same kind one uses to transport food, from their own home to others. The kind a dozen cupcakes would easily fit into, if he had indeed made that many.

Ace follows her line of sight and grins, neither admitting nor denying that it was he who left her one just moments ago.

“Got the feeling,” he offers with no prompting from her. “That after everything you found out this year, celebrating your birthday might not have been high on the list of priorities.”

Nancy doesn't think she'll ever be used to the way he can read her.

“You would be correct,” she admits softly.

He accepts her answer with a nod, turning back to the container and removing the lid.

“So I thought, cupcakes are kind of on the low key side of dessert options. They're a good way to acknowledge the day without making a big deal about it.”

Lifting up the container he offers it to her, and Nancy moves closer, noting how there's a single empty space. The smiles pulls at her lips before she can fight it, before reaching inside to take another.

“That's...” she starts, unsure of what to say as her eyes meet his. “Really sweet of you.”

Ace returns the smile, and next thing Nancy knows she's embracing him with one free arm, and resting her head against his chest. He accepts the gesture easily, letting his cheek drop atop her head.

“Happy birthday,” he gives.

Nancy smiles against him.

“Thank you.”

/\

**tick tock**

-

It's sort of becoming a habit.

Seeking him out.

Just a quick peek. To gauge where his emotions are on any given day. It's not something she's really thought about before. What the group means to him. To her. To any of them. Truth be told she's never had something like this either, and the idea that she would just give it up, after finally realizing what it is. What they are. Rankles in a way she's not familiar with.

Sure, there were friends in high school. But she hasn't spoken with any of them since she walked across a stage and a diploma was placed in her hand. Besides, how many in that group would go up against a ghost for her? Stand in the water and welcome a monster simply because she asked?

Ace does this. Nick does this. Bess and George do this.

With her. For her. Because that's what friends do. They show up.

He's sitting with his legs crossed on the floor, laptop perched on one of the plastic tubs the lobsters get delivered in, fingers clicking across the keys.

“Hey,” she begins cautiously.

The clicking stops but he doesn't turn his head, her 'hey' echoed but tone clipped.

Still frosty, she assess.

He has to be the most confounding person she's ever met. When people are angry, especially with her, their voices tend to raise. Blood pressure coming to a boil. Fingers get pointed figuratively and literally at her while this anger spews outward.

Not Ace, though.

He just says things that, while true enough, are pointed and barbed toward her meant to sting. While they do sting, it's probably not in the way most would intend, because somehow the concern for her well being comes across without making it about himself. No, he doesn't want to lose this. No, he doesn't want to lose her. But he will never tell her to not to. He'll just ask that next time, maybe, please don't.

“How much longer are you going to be mad at me?” she asks.

He still doesn't turn to look at her.

“Six hours, twenty-four minutes,” is the answer given.

Her eyes widen automatically, not expecting an answer, let alone one so specific.

“Really?”

He closes the laptop, but keeps his back to her.

“Three days is long enough to be mad at anyone,” he continues. “Even the hero of Horseshoe Bay.”

A laugh escapes, even though it isn't funny.

“Ace,” she begins, then sighs in frustration not knowing what to say. That he's important too. To the crew. To her. “You're not going to lose me,” offered quietly.

The statement is what finally gets him to face her, shifting around, though he remains seated on the floor.

“Is that a promise?” he asks. “Or a platitude?”

He's still mad. She knows he's still mad. For exactly another six hours and, most likely twenty-three minutes now. But she doesn't see it. In his body language. His eyes.

“Why not both?”

Her turn to surprise him it seems, his mouth pinching shut, and she does take small satisfaction in that.

A slow smile comes to her lips, one he can't help to mirror.

“I don't like it when you're mad at me,” she states after a moment.

Ace regards her curiously.

“In your line of work,” he gives. “It comes with the territory, right?”

“Yeah,” she agrees with a nod. “But...”

His head tilts slightly, waiting for her to elaborate.

“I don't like it when _you_ are mad at me.”

He takes this new bit of information no different than if she would have said she prefers cherries over strawberries. Not that she expected any other kind of reaction.

“Well, there is a time limit on that.”

This time she lets herself laugh, pulling out her phone to make a point.

“Six hours and twenty minutes,” she states. “Can't wait.”

/\

**ah, honey honey**

-

There's a sign on the door, asking that you press the button rather than knock. One that looks like a regular doorbell, but Nancy guesses they must have some kind of setup where the Captain can be made aware there's a caller, rather than rely on his wife and son to inform him constantly.

Nancy has yet to meet Ace's mother, their paths never quite crossing over the course of her handful of visits to the house, so she's jolted momentarily by the woman in question answering the door.

“H-hi,” she stutters, then quickly clears her throat. “I'm-”

“Nancy Drew,” the woman finishes with a smile. “At last we meet.”

A slow smile forms on Nancy's lips to match, very much reminded of her own mother who is not really but dead just the same, and my god this is not the time to delve into that while standing awkwardly on the porch with a stupid grin plastered on her face.

Ace's mom waits patiently for a reply, with a calm but expectant expression.

“Yes,” Nancy continues. “At last.”

For a beat they simply look at each other.

“Sorry to push past the formalities,” Nancy forges on. “But is Ace here? I tried calling, but he's not answering his phone.”

The woman nods with this information.

“Oh, he never keeps it on him while he's attending to the bees.”

Nancy's head tilts, not quite sure she'd heard correctly.

“I'm sorry, the what?”

Ace's mom doesn't elaborate at first, but does step aside waving Nancy into the house, and promptly closes the door behind them. She then follows as the older woman guides her toward the kitchen, where Nancy tries to clarify.

“For a second I thought you said he was tending to the bees.”

A playful look comes across the woman's face.

“Oh no, I did say that,” she assures with a grin. “If you take a look out the window there, you can see him.”

Nancy does exactly that, and sees her friend outfitted in typical beekeeping gear, complete with smoker. He's standing between two of three hives, lifting the lid from one, and pulling out what looks like a good sized square of honeycomb.

“Ace is a beekeeper?” she asks, more to herself but still loud enough to warrant a response.

“Since middle school,” his mother informs. “Found a book on it at the library and somehow convinced his father and I to let him try his hand at it.”

Nancy shakes her head and chuckles softly to herself. This is really no different than any of the random interests she discovers he 's into over the course of their friendship. And yet, with a few of the others, she can't help to be slightly baffled he partakes in whatever they may be.

“You can go out there,” his mother goes on. “Just keep a safe distance.”

Nancy glances back at the woman, who points at the sliding glass door beyond the dining table, with another friendly grin.

“Okay,” she accepts, moving toward the door. “Thanks.”

Ace doesn't notice the door open, though Nancy is sure she's within his peripheral vision, and walks slowly across the lawn toward him.

“You might want to stop there,” he advises, once she's just a few feet away, but is concentrating on the task at hand rather than shifting toward her. “This one has the Queen inside, and the drones can get a little jumpy.”

Nancy knows she is making a face, because seriously, how can one person be so continually dumbfounding?

“You never mentioned this before,” she states, offering a hand to his getup.

He gives a hum of agreement, and she can see the smirk of his face clearly through the protective veil.

“The fine art of apiculture feels a little misplaced between mystery solving and ghost hunting,” he gives. “And not a topic that regularly comes up in conversation.”

Nancy can't argue with that, watching as he carefully inspects another sheet of honeycomb, before carefully setting it back into the hive.

“What brings you by?” he asks, once its slid firmly back into place.

“You weren't answering my texts,” she responds. “Or calls.”

Ace glances at her, and at the very least, appears apologetic.

“My bad,” he concedes. “I leave it in the house while I'm tending. Text alerts and ringtones can anger them.”

“Okay boomers,” Nancy teases, then immediately winces at the bad joke.

Ace doesn't laugh, but does shake his giant protective bonnet covered head in amusement.

“I assume crime is afoot?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Nancy concurs. “George got a tip on the Baker case from a customer at the Claw, and we need everyone to saddle up.”

“Right,” he agrees, that bonnet shaking again with his nod. “I'm on it. But I need to you do something for me first.”

Nancy waits curiously for him to clarify, and when offered a fresh piece of honeycomb, almost doesn't take it as a few bees begin to buzz around.

“They won't sting you,” Ace assures.

Still Nancy hesitates.

“Trust me.”

Taking the comb from him she lifts it to her mouth, balks another second, before finally nibbling off a piece. The raw sweetness is like nothing she's ever tasted before, mumbling 'oh my god' as the honey coats her tongue, while Ace smiles widely at her.

“Pretty good, right?”

/\

**proximity**

-

Leaning over his shoulder, she's only curious, to see how he goes about gathering information for them. He's not a particularly fast typist, though she notes that he never once has to look down at his fingers like she would, different screens popping up as he combs through the data.

It's not something she thinks about.

How easily she presses against him, letting her chin drop to his shoulder, and that if she wanted could circle his waist with her arms.

It's not something he comments on.

Though his eye darts quickly toward hers, before back to the screen and the task at hand, the tiniest of smirks pulling at his lip. She likes being this close, and knows easily, he likes it too.

-

Their hands brush, when he hands her a cup of coffee, eyes meeting for just a moment. The smile that comes is easy and natural, mirrored on each other's faces, as Nancy pauses to blow on the steaming liquid while Ace wanders back into the kitchen. Without thinking, she brings that very hand to her lips and wonders.

-

Consistently and continually, she chooses to sit next to him.

At the Claw.

In her kitchen.

At George's house.

In Bess' room at the Marvin estate.

At Nick's place.

If there's a spot next to Ace, she takes it. If their shoulders brush, she feels it. If their knees knock together, she lets it.

Everyone has noticed this pattern, yet not a single one of the crew has chosen to call her on it, though Bess and George's eyes linger on whatever body parts have made incidental contact. One time Nick is taking point on the latest mystery, standing in front of the group and rerunning through the facts at hand, and Nancy's leg is bouncing with anticipation to get the job done. Ace, without a word reaches out and stills her leg, never turning his head to her.

It calms the frantic limb but he doesn't take his hand away, it resting comfortably atop her knee, and Nancy gnaws at the inside of her cheek to keep from sighing.

-

Ace falls asleep on her couch after a particularly late group meeting, and for a moment she just looks at him, all quiet and peaceful. She only means to drape a blanket across his shoulders and call it a night herself, but when she grabs it from the back of the couch, finds herself sidling up next to him before using it to cover the both of them.

Letting her head fall against his arm, with eyes fluttering closed, he stirs.

“Nancy?” Questioned in a hushed voice.

“Mmm?” she hums in returns.

His arm lifts and wrap around her, as she presses closer, head slipping down to his chest. He nods off again almost instantly, but Nancy does not, listening the steady rhythm of his breathing.

-

He's hurt.

Dirty, bruised, and bleeding.

In the woods, because where else do ghosts go when the buildings they've haunted for centuries get leveled in the name of progress? Who else do they lash out at, but a group of friends investigating a case that had nothing to do with them?

George, Bess, and Nick ran off in one direction while she and Ace went the other. Rocks and tree branches launched with displaced anger, clipping him in the back, sent tumbling forward to the ground at full speed. She shouts his name, turning around and nearly struck with a projectile herself, before dropping to her knees to assess the damage.

There's a scratch jutting from his hairline, a thin trail of blood seeping out, the result from his face plant on the ground. Her fingers dance delicately around the wound, not wanting dirt covered hands to give him an infection, and thinks if she's going to clean him up they have to get out of here first.

“Okay,” he groans, clutching the spot of contact. “I'm okay. I just need a second.”

Nancy scans their surroundings, unable the see the phantom, but the sound of a force storming around echoes across the forest floor.”

“We don't have a second,” she warns, grabbing his hand to pull him up.

He stumbles a moment, but she holds him steady, never letting go of that hand as they rush to find their friends.

-

Ace is sitting on the hood of her car, as she comes out of Mrs. Cambridge's house, looking at his phone. The elderly woman was a little paranoid in regards to giving out information, only allowing Nancy inside, but once there proceeded to give up anything and everything she could. Seriously, it had been nearly an hour since the conversation started, and Nancy ended up using the voice recorder on her phone fifteen minutes in because she knew there was no way to retain it all.

“Get what you needed?” he asks upon her approach, eyes lifting from his phone to meet hers.

“And then some,” she deadpans, giving a cursory look back to the house. “Poor old lady must have been starved for conversation, because once she got going, just couldn't stop.”

Ace laughs, about the slide off the hood, when Nancy steps in front of him. His eyebrow lifts, but he doesn't question the move.

“There's about forty-five minutes of an eighty-eight year old woman rambling about days past on my voice recorder,” she says, pulling the phone from her pocket. “If you wouldn't mind combing through that data?”

“Nah,” he answers with a shake of his head. “I don't mind.”

Nancy smiles in response, looking like she wants to say something more, but doesn't.

“Thanks for waiting,” is what comes out instead, knees brushing the bumper of the car as she steps even closer.

Ace shrugs.

“Nice to have a little me time,” he teases. “Caught up on some emails, played a little AFK Arena.”

She looks at the phone still in his hand.

“Did you win?”

Nancy can feel his eyes on her.

“Not really that kind of game.”

This isn't how Nancy imaged it, kissing him for the first time. Not that she'd been thinking about it, or even dreamed about it once or twice, with all the moments she's allowed herself to move just a little bit closer to him. That he'd be perched on the hood of her car, while she positioned herself between his legs, in such a public display on a quiet street in the middle of a inquiry.

Ace kisses like he listens.

Full of acceptance and understanding.

He doesn't push for more, or take what she's not willing to give, kissing her back as evenly as she kisses him. Purposefully she avoids eye contact when pulling away, forehead immediately falling to his shoulder, but smiles against the sensation of his arms circling her waist.

“That was nice,” he gives quietly.

Nancy laughs against him.

“Yeah,” she agrees. “It was.”


End file.
